


don't let the lights go down

by withoutwords



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, Mild Angst, Set Throughout Relationship, past and present tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: Isak's a terrible dancer.





	don't let the lights go down

**Author's Note:**

> this was for an anonymous prompt over at my Tumblr: 'could you write about the development of isak dancing with even; like at parties, at 2121 in their apartment' - I hope you enjoy, anon!
> 
> title from adele, 'I miss you'.

Isak’s a terrible dancer. It’s not a secret - he was in a school production of the Fiddler on the Roof when he was eight and never made it past opening night. A girl broke her leg, about six costumes were destroyed and for the first time in the school’s history someone  _ actually _ made a formal complaint.

“Your talents obviously lie in other endeavours,” was the teacher’s very gentle way of telling him never to step foot on another stage again. Isak was just glad there wouldn’t be any more dancing.

“No!” his mother had protested, but she was laughing, spinning a kitchen towel in the air like some sort of baton. “Don’t say that! Dancing is food for the soul!”

“I thought that was music,” his dad had piped in, then found himself being dragged around the room in some wobbly version of a waltz. They sung to each other, smashing into bench tops and laughing over the sound of the pots boiling over. They sung and they danced and Isak watched on, clapping his hands to keep the beat.

He remembers how light he felt, he remembers how easy it was, he remembers they  _ were _ in love once.

(He remembers believing it could happen to him.)

*

Isak spent a lot of time dancing with girls. He’s not sure it could be called dancing - he always thought it’d be a stupid,  _ gay _ , question to ask - but whatever it was seemed to be enough. A little side step. A bob of his head. An arm around her waist to pull her close and pretend. If it was intimate, less people would look; less people would see him and know he had no clue what he was doing.

With dancing, with girls.

“What was our first dance?” Even asked one night, twisted in Isak’s bed sheets and playing with Isak’s hair.

“Huh?”

“Our first dance.”

Isak just pulled a face. “I have no idea.  _ Do _ we dance?”

“At the party, here,” Even scoffed at him, and he’d always done that, ask questions he already knew the answer to. “Vilde’s Kosegruppa.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“When you were with Emma and I was with Sonja and …”

“We didn’t dance!” Isak cried with a splutter, sitting up so that he could meet Even’s eye. He looked so amused Isak had to push at him. “You eye fucked me from afar and - ”

“Excuse me! There was mutual eye fucking.”

“Whatever.” isak couldn’t argue with that. At the time it was probably the single hottest thing that had ever happened to him. Not including all the eye fucking they had done at Even’s place. (He was still bitter nothing had happened that day, and liked to remind Even about it on a regular basis). “We didn’t dance.”

“Please. We danced around each other for so long.  _ So _ long.” Even pinched at his side. “ _ So _ much dancing.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“We can dance right now. I’ll put on some Robyn and - ”

“No,” Isak said, definite, pushing Even further down onto the bed. He straddled him and ducked in close and tried to be seductive (though he’d always thought he was as good at seduction as he was at dancing). “If you want to dance we can do it right here.”

“We always do this dance!” Even said with a fake eyeroll, opening his mouth for Isak and learning new steps.

*

Isak can’t dance, but he loves music. He loves it loud and offbeat and lyrical; he loves it pumping through his feet and pulsing out of his skin. He loves to get drunk and let loose and forget about how stupid he might look, forget that there’s anyone else around.

Except Even.

“I can’t dance!” Isak had felt the need to tell Even when they’d gone to a festival together; the two of them hip and shoulder to hundreds of people. Even had pulled Isak to his chest and Isak had tangled their fingers together and maybe they’d just been a speck on the ocean but Isak felt like they were the only two here.

He’d sort of wished they were. 

“What are you doing right now?!” Even yelled back, his nose brushing against Isak’s ear and his breath warm against Isak’s skin.

“Moving!”

“Good!” Isak didn’t need to see Even to tell he was smiling. His hands found Isak’s hips and his mouth found Isak’s throat and when he said, “Move with me!” Isak just let it all go.

The worry, the fear, the pretence.

He listened to the music, and he listened to Even sing a long and he pushed back into Even’s embrace and felt it.

He felt everything.

*

Isak’s seen so many movies he never would have touched without Even. There was  _ Strictly Ballroom _ ,  _ Shakespeare in Love _ , something with Heath Ledger and the funny guy from  _ Death At A Funeral _ (that one Isak  _ did _ like) - and it took a while for Isak to realise there was always so much dancing. Not just jumping around like losers - which was their favourite way to dance - but proper dances, with routines and steps and special little bows that Isak could never watch and not think of Even.

He always seemed like he came from another time.

“What are you doing?” Even asked on their first night in the new apartment, Isak throwing on the playlist Vilde had put together for them titled ‘True Love Lasts A Lifetime’. (Even had insisted they keep it.)

Isak stood in the middle of their lounge room (there were boxes everywhere and they still had nowhere to sleep yet) and waved out a hand, bowing his head.

“Isak,” Even mock gasped, throwing a hand to his chest. “Are you asking to dance?”

“M’lady,” he said, syrupy, Even chirping back, “Good sir.”

It was a mess.

They were both trying to lead and they were trodding on each other’s feet and they tripped over the only box marked ‘Fragile’ about four times before giving up. As they lay on the floor, laughing and catching their breath, Even told him,

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” and Isak just hummed at him. “I can’t dance either.

They just lay there for a while, sprawled out, nothing but their fingertips touching.

Then Even said, “Jesus, what is this music,” and jumped up to turn it off.

Isak thought it was perfect.

*

It’s a long time before Isak sees his parents dance again.

It’s Even’s birthday, and it’s late, and there’s just a few people shuffling around on the dancefloor. Isak has his face tucked into Even’s neck, and an arm around his waist, and they’re moving okay. They’re getting better at this.

“Hey, look,” Even says softly, nudging at Isak to turn around.

His parents are slowly waltzing by the window, chatting and happy.

“They used to do that a lot,” Isak tells him, the words getting caught in his throat. His mum looks up at him suddenly, and smiles, one of those rare, crystal clear ones like she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s nice they can do it, as friends.”

“Yeah,” Isak agrees softly, turning back into Even, shuffling as close as the space will allow. “I don’t want to stop dancing with you.”

“I know.”

“The good ones, the bad ones - I don’t want to stop.”

Even clenches Isak’s hand tighter in his, breathes deep. “We won’t.” Isak knows he found it for himself.

(He knows _this_  he’ll always be good at).

**Author's Note:**

> thefancyspin.tumblr.com


End file.
